


you make me feel like that metaphor about drowning

by artenon



Category: The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - College/University, M/M, Romantic Comedy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-29
Updated: 2015-05-29
Packaged: 2018-04-01 19:59:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,634
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4032739
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/artenon/pseuds/artenon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Sounds like you need Barry Allen’s Deathspresso,” Barry says, and immediately wants to slap himself. He can only embarrass himself so many times before the ground opens up and swallows him, right? He’ll escape this hell of losing cognitive function in the presence of Eddie Thawne soon. There will only be the abyss.</p>
            </blockquote>





	you make me feel like that metaphor about drowning

**Author's Note:**

> hello!! a week ago, i hadn't seen a single episode of the flash. guess who binged and fell for this pair absurdly fast. :'D
> 
> i'm a bit late to the game, but i wanted to contribute something to thallen week!! i hope you like it <3
> 
> (some sort of disclaimer that this is unbetaed and it is 4 AM)
> 
> [on tumblr](http://artenon.tumblr.com/post/120178731295)

“Barry Allen, is it possible for you to get off the Internet for five minutes while you’re on the clock?”

Barry scrambled to stuff his phone in his pocket and turned to smile guiltily at Iris. “This is our slow hour.”

“That’s true,” Iris says, “but while you’re busy tweeting about nerdy things, you’re gonna miss out on _that_.” She jerks her chin toward the door, and Barry looks up in time to see Eddie Thawne walk into Jitters.

“Oh, God,” he whimpers.

Eddie Thawne is in Barry’s Criminology class. The lecture is pretty big, so Barry probably wouldn’t know this if he wasn't also in the same discussion section. Where he sometimes sits next to Barry, and where Barry has to bite his tongue to keep from saying something embarrassing, like, _I think you’re_ criminally _attractive._

Iris pats his back. “You got this,” she says, and steps away from the counter to fiddle with the coffee machines, forcing Barry to step up to the register just as Eddie approaches.

“Hey, Allen,” Eddie says. He smiles. It’s too warm and friendly considering they’re more of acquaintances than friends, and it sends Barry’s heart racing a mile a minute.

Eddie’s smile shows off his teeth, which are all really very white.

 _Get yourself together_ , Barry tells himself while trying to offer a smile back, but he’s pretty sure his mouth is just twitching. This is going well so far.

“Hi… Eddie,” he says, and, God, his voice is pitching so weirdly. He clears his throat and says, more normally, “What can I get you?”

Eddie studies the menu on the wall. “I’m thinking coffee,” he says slowly, “with an extra shot of coffee.” He meets Barry’s eyes again and shrugs. “I have an essay to write and only so many hours to do it.”

“Sounds like you need Barry Allen’s Deathspresso,” Barry says, and immediately wants to slap himself. He can only embarrass himself so many times before the ground opens up and swallows him, right? He’ll escape this hell of losing cognitive function in the presence of Eddie Thawne soon. There will only be the abyss. He wonders if he’ll be able to update his blog from the abyss—is there Wi-Fi there? It would be the perfect event to write about.

Okay. He’s getting distracted, but it’s just a poor attempt to not pay attention to Eddie’s general gorgeousness. Because otherwise, he’ll notice the way the corners of his eyes crinkle when his mouth stretches into a wide grin and he echoes, “Deathspresso?” Oh, there Barry is. Noticing it. “I don’t remember ever seeing that on the menu.”

“Forget I said that,” Barry says. His heart is approaching dangerous speeds. “Um—”

“No, I’m curious now,” Eddie says, leaning forward. “What’s this ‘deathspresso’?”

“It—it’s my special recipe for completing assignments last-minute or pulling all-nighters…”

“Perfect,” Eddie says, slapping an open palm onto the counter, and Barry jumps a little. “Sorry. I’ll take one. Medium.”

“It’s a lot of coffee,” Barry warns. “You’ll be vibrating in your seat.”

“Look, as long as I don’t OD on caffeine, we’re good. Please, Allen.” Resting his other hand on the countertop, Eddie leans even closer. Barry has a front-row viewing of his blue, blue eyes. He thinks he understands now the metaphor of drowning in someone’s eyes, because Eddie’s eyes are a sea and they’re causing a serious threat to Barry’s oxygen levels. “I need this.”

“Oh…okay,” Barry whispers. His body is trying to lean forward and kiss Eddie but his brain is telling him ( _nooo, no, no, that is a very bad idea_ ) to lean back, so he ends up just standing awkwardly. He thinks, fleetingly, Eddie can probably smell his gross tuna breath from the sandwich he had for lunch.

Finally, Barry tears his gaze away from Eddie to tap at the register, and he breathes a sigh of relief when, in his peripheral vision, he sees Eddie lean back. “One Barry Allen Deathspresso, coming up,” he says. “That’ll be $4.50.”

Eddie hands him a five, and their fingers brush when Barry gives him back two quarters. The world stops.

Then Eddie pulls away to find a table, and Barry watches him go, feeling like his feet want him to follow. Instead, he turns on his heel and practically collapses onto Iris.

“I think I died five times in that conversation.”

“You’re lucky you’re cute,” Iris mutters, stepping past him to man the counter so Barry can make Eddie’s order. No one else knows how to make the Barry Allen Deathspresso.

Barry’s deathspresso is really just a latte with more espresso than steamed milk, and lots of caramel sauce, topped with whipped cream and even more caramel. It’s too much coffee and too much sugar but it’s perfect, and he thinks Eddie will like it, too, since Barry always sees him with sweet coffees in section. The extra espresso is bitter but the extra caramel should help offset it.

Barry carries the drink out to where he sees Eddie sitting with his laptop out.

“Here you go,” he says, setting the cup down next to the laptop. “One… deathspresso.” He really should have named it something else because he’s regretting it more by the minute, but in his defense, he and Iris were, until five minutes ago, the only people who knew about it.

Eddie looks up at him, and Barry is treated to another one of his bright smiles. Eddie is usually too tired and grumpy in their 8 AM discussion (it was the only section still open when Barry signed up for the class and the only one that worked for Eddie’s schedule, as Barry found out the third week) to smile much, but that's probably a good thing, otherwise Barry would spend the whole hour staring at him.

As if he didn’t do that already.

“You, Allen, are a lifesaver,” Eddie says, taking up the cup and licking up some of the whipped cream. The pink flash of tongue makes Barry’s knees weak.

He’s reluctant to return back to his post behind the counter, so he lingers, and asks, “So—what class is your essay for?”

“English,” Eddie replies, setting the cup down, “Which I’m taking for GEs, which I mistakenly did not pass/no pass because of pride. Also, sorry, I’m gonna have to wait to try your deathspresso, or else I’ll burn my tongue.”

How can he say deathspresso with a straight face like that?

“Yeah, of course, don’t worry about it,” Barry says, scratching the back of his head. “I, um…” He blinks and flushes. “I probably shouldn’t be bothering you right now, huh.”

Eddie is still smiling at him, but it’s turned rueful. “Yeah, now would not the best time.”

“I am so sorry,” Barry says, taking a step backwards and nearly tripping over his own feet. “I’ll stop bothering you now.” He turns away.

“Wait, Allen,” Eddie says, and Barry turns back so fast he almost trips (again).

“Yeah?”

“I really would like to talk with you… at a better time,” Eddie says. “Are you free on Friday?”

“Yes!” Barry says, far too eager and too fast. He hears Iris bite back a laugh behind him. “Um, I mean. Friday would definitely be good. We can talk about… Criminology… stuff.”

He winces. That sounded horrible even to his ears. How red is his face right now? On second thought, maybe he’s better off not knowing.

Eddie bites his lower lip. It is incredibly distracting. “Okay,” he says after a moment.

“Okay,” Barry repeats, wiping his sweaty palms on the front of his jeans. “I will… see you then.”

He makes his retreat before he can embarrass himself further.

“He asked me out!” Barry whispers to Iris once he makes it back to the other side of the counter without any mishaps.

Iris gives him a sweet smile, then whacks his arm. Hard.

“Ow! What—what was that for?”

“‘We can talk about _Criminology stuff_?’” Iris hisses, making air quotes with her fingers. “Way to effectively turn it into _not_ a date! Eddie was totally asking you out and then you totally blew it!”

“Wha—I panicked, okay?” Barry says, not so much crossing his arms as hunching in on himself.

“Barry,” Iris says through clenched teeth. “Fix. This. You’ve been swooning over him for a month.”

“Fine, I will, okay! Just—give me time to recover.”

He grins at Iris, sheepish, and definitely doesn’t run away to resume his post at the register.

Even if Iris thinks he totally ruined it, Barry can’t stop smiling, and he can’t help but glance at Eddie’s table every once in a while, ducking his head whenever Eddie turns toward him.

He can’t work up the nerve to approach him again. Eddie is simply too intimidatingly charming. At least, that’s what Barry whispers to Iris with a helpless shrug when it’s the end of his shift and Barry is about to leave with zero intentions of speaking again to Eddie, who’s still at his table, typing away.

Iris glares at him, but she doesn’t move to stop him when he starts slowly making his way to the door. Very slowly.

“Allen!”

Releasing the breath he’d been holding, Barry turns.

Eddie gives him two thumbs up. “Your deathspresso is like magic.”

“I’m glad,” Barry says, and the compliment does make him feel warm in his chest, but he also wishes Eddie wasn’t speaking so loudly now that there are other patrons in the coffee shop. Deathspresso. Seriously.

He makes an awkward half-turn back for the door.

“Bye, Allen. See you in lecture tomorrow!”

“Yeah, see you,” Barry says, breathless.

* * *

Considering the size of the Criminology 133 class, despite Eddie’s parting words, Barry isn’t expecting to see him there the next day.

He gets there early because he likes to sit near the front—third or fourth row usually, close enough to be engaged and focused, but far enough that he can discreetly go on his phone without feeling like the professor is judging him if he decides that today is not a day for being engaged and focused.

He’s still got a good ten minutes before lecture is scheduled to start (and another five minutes after that), so he takes out his phone and opens Twitter. There are a handful of notifications from various people who follow his blog, sending him stories of unexplained phenomena, and Barry begins opening links and reading. Like the unexplainable cases he’s been sent, Barry’s thoughts keep getting drawn unexplainably to Eddie—okay, who is he kidding, he knows exactly why, and he reprimands himself, because, again, he probably isn’t even going to see him today.

A few minutes later, Eddie continues to defy logical expectation by dropping his backpack onto the floor by Barry’s feet and claiming the empty seat next to him.

They exchange “heys,” and then Eddie comes right out and says, “You honestly probably saved my grade in English with your deathspresso.”

Barry groans, covering his face with his hands. “Can we please stop calling it the deathspresso?”

“But that’s what you called it.”

“It’s an awful and embarrassing name never meant to be revealed to the public,” Barry insists, peeking out between his fingers in time to see the corners of Eddie’s mouth stretching into a smile. He covers his eyes again. He’s not ready to face this.

“Ah,” Eddie says. “Don’t worry. Your secret is safe with me.”

“I can always trust you,” Barry says sarcastically, dropping his hands. He can do this. He can hold a normal conversation with Eddie. He’s done it before.

Eddie gives him a look of mock hurt. “I can’t believe you would doubt me like this.”

 _Your face is too pretty. I have to keep my guard up, or else I’d believe everything you say_ , Barry thinks, but what he ends up saying is, “I don’t trust your face.”

“Okay, ouch,” Eddie says. “You don’t think I look trustworthy?” he asks, and gives him a winning smile.

Barry is left stammering out half-sentences that don’t actually answer Eddie’s question until the professor enters the lecture hall, and then he has an excuse not to stare at Eddie’s face for ninety minutes.

Even though Eddie is a distracting presence next to him, Barry takes good notes that lecture. Mostly because he can’t sketch Eddie’s face in the margin of his papers when Eddie is sitting right next to him.

“Hey… Barry,” Eddie says after class, and Barry’s stomach jumps at the use of his first name, “can I talk to you for a minute?”

“I, uh, have a class right now, actually,” Barry blurts, the first excuse that comes to his mind. He gathers his stuff and stands, but he’s not even sure why he’s trying to get away. It’s like Eddie talks to him and his mind goes Blue Screen of Death.

“No you don’t,” Eddie says with a frown, also standing. “You never take noon classes because your stomach growls louder than a thunderstorm. I’m confident that’s a direct quote.” He hesitates. “Are you okay?”

“Great! I’m great,” Barry says, and clears his throat. “So…”

Eddie is looking at him like he’s not exactly sure what to do with him. To be fair, Barry’s not so sure what to do with himself either.

“I’m a little confused right now,” Eddie finally says. He reaches an arm out, hesitant, and then he taps Barry’s arm and starts walking out of the lecture hall. Barry follows.

“How so?” Barry asks, staring at the back of Eddie’s head. His hair is pretty.

“Your body language tells me I have a chance with you. Your verbal language makes me less sure.”

They’re outside now, and Eddie turns to face him. Barry doesn’t think he’s ever seen Eddie look so nervous, even though he tries to play it off with a weak smile.

“So tell me, Barry Allen. Do I have a chance?”

Barry gapes. It’s unattractive, probably, seriously, why does Eddie like him. Wait. Eddie likes him. He _likes_ him? What the hell.

He realizes he’s still just standing there, gaping, when Eddie’s face begins to fall, and then he says, “No! I mean—not no, you don’t have a chance, I meant no, don’t look like that. Because yes, yes, you do have a chance. You have every chance. I,” he pauses to take a breath, “like you very much. As it turns out. I’m not sure why you expected otherwise, since you’re so—” _Sweet and endearing and gorgeous._ “Yes.”

“I’m so _yes_ ,” Eddie echoes. The smile is back on his face, full-force, and it leaves Barry feeling winded.

“Sorry. I’m weird,” Barry says, wincing. “Iris says I get like this around my crushes.”

“Barry, I already know you’re weird,” Eddie says, laughing. “I read your blog.”

“You what—” Barry says, and that’s as far as he gets before Eddie cups his cheeks and kisses him, but _okay, yeah, this is good, I can work with this. I can definitely work with this._

“‘We can talk about Criminology stuff,’ Barry? Really?” Eddie asks, his voice barely above a whisper. Their faces are too close for Barry to really see his mouth, but the crinkles by his eyes let him know Eddie is smiling.

Their noses are brushing. Barry’s brain isn’t operating at full capacity, and he can’t whine about Eddie making fun of him. Iris already made fun of him about that. Instead, he just says, “Have I ever mentioned that you’re criminally attractive?” and kisses him again—or he tries to, anyway, but Eddie pulls away because he can’t stop laughing. Barry sort of has the feeling it’s going to be like this a lot, but he also has the feeling that that’s okay.


End file.
